


In The Grey

by haupia96816



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Out of Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-18 13:39:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8163869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haupia96816/pseuds/haupia96816
Summary: Liz is a by-the-book law enforcement agent. Samar is a vigilante assassin with a conscience. Liz is working a big case, and Samar becomes a prime suspect. The two cross paths, and feelings develop...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is AU/maybe some OOC, and it contains original characters as well as characters from The Blacklist. In full disclosure, I originally wrote this story for another pairing, but I started watching The Blacklist, and I thought Lizvabi shippers might enjoy this story, since it’s basically the same genre as The Blacklist. As a heads up, there is a bit of story development before Samar and Liz actually meet, but I tried to write the story so it reads quickly.
> 
> A couple disclaimers/warnings/etc: This story contains references to the military and law enforcement. I don't know much about either (in fact, most of what I know is from watching The Blacklist), but the references are just there to set context and move the story along. I apologize in advance for any falsities. Also, this story will contain some conflict, tension, drama, adult language, mature themes, and some violence (but no more than the show).
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story.

The assassin laid in the darkness, perched on the rooftop of a four-story building. She was wearing all black, her long dark brown hair tied back in a ponytail. She peered through the scope of her rifle and traced her shot to the doorway of the restaurant across the street and halfway down the block. Any minute now, her targets would be exiting. She had been tracking them for over six months. She knew where they lived and where they worked. She knew that, every Sunday, they ate dinner at Salvatore’s on Taylor Street, in the section of Chicago known as Little Italy. They always arrived at seven and left anywhere between nine and ten. Last Sunday, the assassin had dined in the restaurant, arriving slightly before seven. She had seen her targets arrive right at seven with a phalanx of six bodyguards. She had dined alone and then left right after her targets had departed, around 9:42. She checked her watch. It was now 9:37. Tonight, she had arrived in the neighborhood at 6:30. She had drunk a cappuccino at a coffee shop across the street from the restaurant and had seen her targets enter the restaurant at seven with the same phalanx of bodyguards. Then she went around the alley to her car, changed out of her sundress and sandals into her black tactical outfit and boots, grabbed her rifle case, and had entered the building and climbed to the rooftop. She had jammed the access door to the rooftop so she would remain undisturbed. She had set up her rifle and since then had been lying dead still for two and a half hours, as dusk turned to darkness, waiting for her targets to exit. She had wiggled her toes and fingers every five minutes, keeping her extremities mobile, since once her targets emerged from the restaurant, she would need to act instantly.

The assassin felt herself drifting, so she allowed herself to relax for a few seconds. She closed her eyes for three seconds and then re-opened them. The world sharpened, and she felt herself refocus. Her hands never left the barrel and the trigger of her rifle. She peered through the scope again and traced her shot for the umpteenth time. Just under three hundred yards. Her longest shot had been seven hundred yards, so this wasn't a long shot for her by any means, but everything still had to go according to plan. The assassin started to look at her watch again, and as she did, she heard the sound of two car motors. She looked up and saw two black Mercedes sedans pull up in front of the restaurant. The assassin had seen her targets exit these vehicles, and she had no doubt that the vehicles were armor plated. The driver of each vehicle got out, scanned the street, then walked around to the curbside and opened the door to the back seat. The assassin took a deep breath and peered back through the scope. Her targets would be exiting the restaurant any moment now. She had one chance, maybe three seconds at most, to take out both targets. Any misses, or any longer than three seconds, and her targets would be in their bulletproof vehicles. Months of waiting and careful planning would be down the drain. She could not fail. She took another deep breath, exhaled and waited.

Thirty seconds later, four men the size of professional wrestlers wearing Italian cut suits exited the restaurant. They scanned the street quickly and then motioned behind them. The two targets came out of the restaurant, talking with each other and walking slowly to the cars. Five more seconds and they would be inside. The assassin took one last deep breath, exhaled slowly, and then gently squeezed the trigger. The bullet traveled through the silencer and hit the first target in the right temple. He went limp instantly and fell to the ground. The second target registered that something was seriously wrong and started to shout in alarm, but he was a second too late. Before he could get a word out, a bullet struck him right between the eyes, and he went down as fast as the first target. Chaos erupted outside of the front of the restaurant as the bodyguards sprang into action. Passersby scattered as four of the bodyguards formed a defensive perimeter and raised their weapons while the other two bodyguards checked on the targets. It was an impressive display of activity, but it was all for naught, as they were too late. Both targets had died before they had hit the ground. As panic set into the mafia security personnel, the assassin raised herself to a crouching position. She quickly dismantled and then stowed her rifle into a soft carrying case that she slung over her shoulder, then picked up the two spent shell casings and put them in her pocket. Then, she peered up over the side of the building at the chaos that had developed on the street below.

Amid the chaos, one of the bodyguards thought he saw the slightest bit of movement on a rooftop across the street and halfway down the block, but he couldn’t be sure, and as his associates continued to shout and the sound of sirens approached, the assassin stood up, backed into the shadows, and disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

The Chevy Caprice sped down Ashland Avenue and rounded the corner onto Taylor Street. It skidded to a stop as it reached Salvatore’s, and Special Agent Elizabeth “Liz” Keen stepped out of the passenger’s side. Special Agent Aram Mojtabai put the car in park and exited the vehicle, leaving the engine running. He caught up with Liz, and the pair made their way through the local cops and the press that were already on the scene.

“Damn, Keen. What do you think happened here?”

“I don’t know, Aram. But I see Ressler. Let’s go find out.” They approached Detective Donald Ressler of the Chicago Police Department, who was standing right outside the entrance to Salvatore’s. He was smoking a cigarette and talking with a uniformed police officer.

“Ressler”, Liz called out. Ressler turned around.

“Keen”, Ressler said as Liz and Aram approached. He stuck out hand, and Liz shook it. Ressler looked at Aram and coolly said, “Agent Mojtabai.”

“Uh, that’s _Special_ Agent Mojtabai, Donald”, Aram corrected him, calling him by his first name, which no one did. Ressler always left out the “Special” part of Aram’s title, and Aram knew that Ressler intentionally did that just to rib him. “You should quit smoking those things. They’ll kill you”, waving his hand in front of his face.

“Keep running your mouth, and I might kill you”, Ressler retorted, blowing smoke in Aram’s directions.

“Alright, you two – knock it off, or I’ll kill both of you”, Liz said. “Ressler - what do you know?”

Ressler turned to Liz and looked her in the eye. Liz worked for the Joint Organized Crime Taskforce, or JOCT for short. It was a newly developed partnership between the FBI and local police departments. Its mission was combating organized crime and gangs operating in the major cities of the United States. The traditional model of law enforcement was that the FBI was in charge of organized crime across the nation, and local law enforcement was responsible for gang activity in their own cities. The two branches had not always played well together, but that was changing. With the consolidation of power between different gang segments in the major cities, and the escalating conflict between these consolidated local gangs and the mafia over the control of drugs, guns, and other vice-related activities, the original law enforcement model had become outdated. Enter JOCT, whose purpose was to coordinate law enforcement effort between the FBI, who had the overall view of organized crime in the United States, and local law enforcement, who had their finger on the pulse of local crime activity. Aram was Liz’s partner from the FBI. He was a bona fide nerd and made awkward comments, but he had a solid, tactical mind. Ressler was Liz’s local partner. He was a bit of a maverick but a tough, seasoned Chicago street cop, and he knew Chicago’s street gangs inside and out. When they had first started working together, Aram and Ressler had harbored a bit of the old long-standing rivalry between the FBI and local law enforcement, but Liz got along well with both of them, and since she had started coordinating the efforts of the Chicago branch of the FBI and the Chicago PD, she had made considerable headway in making Ressler and Aram get along better. Now they were pretty much on good terms, and for the most part ribbed each other harmlessly. Both Ressler and Aram liked and respected Liz, and in the two years the three of them had been working together, they had taken down some major players in the Chicago crime scene.

“The victims are Alberto Costello and Vincenzo Pazzarelli”, Ressler began.

“Wow. Two heavy hitters”, Liz said, and Ressler nodded in agreement. Costello was the underboss of the Marano crime family, by far the largest mafia family in Chicago. Pazzarelli was his top lieutenant. These guys were close to the top of the criminal underworld food chain. Those two getting whacked was big, and something in Liz’s gut told her that this could get big and ugly, fast. “What the hell happened here?”

“Two shots”, Ressler continued. “One tap to each victim. Costello was shot through the right temple. Pazzarelli was shot right between the eyes.”

“Any witnesses?” Liz asked.

“Nope. They had six bodyguards the size of professional wrestlers with them. None of them saw a thing. Neither did the few passersby on the street. We have all of them down at the station right now, but no one’s gonna be able to give us anything.”

“Any ideas?” Aram asked.

“It wasn’t a drive-by”, Ressler said. “Most likely M.O. was a sniper, maybe somewhere on one of the rooftops across or down the street, judging by the angle at which the victims were hit.”

Liz looked across the street. Most of the buildings immediately across from the restaurant were two story flats. Any bodyguard who is any good would have spotted someone there with a rifle, and Liz had busted enough of the Marano family to know that their bodyguards were very good. She looked further down the block across the street in each direction. “Okay, if we go with that theory, then the nearest likely place for a sniper to perch and wait would have been that building right there”, Liz said. She pointed to the nearest taller building, a four-story condo complex halfway down the block. “But, that rooftop has gotta be like three hundred yards away.”

“Yeah, I know”, Ressler replied. “I just don’t see any other way how it could have gone down.”

Aram looked at Ressler. “So, who did it? The Disciples? Another family?” The Chicago Disciples were the largest street gang in the city, and the Marano family’s main competition in the distribution of guns and drugs.

“No”, Ressler said. He shook his head and looked at Aram. “The Marano family has pretty much swallowed up all of the other crime families here in the city. Even you stiffs at the FBI know that.” Aram rolled his eyes, and Ressler turned back to Liz. “As for the Disciples, well, this isn’t their style. They would have waited with automatic weapons in vans across the street, and then they would have sprayed the entire Marano crew as they came out of the restaurant. No, this is something else.”

Liz thought for a moment and then said, “So…what are you saying, Ressler? That we have a new player in the game?” She didn’t like that. This war was already heated enough. Ever since the Marano family had pushed out all of the other mafia families in the city, and the Disciples had consolidated most of Chicago’s street gangs under one umbrella, the conflict had escalated into a whole new level. No longer was it small packs of hoodlums engaging in street fights and petty crime. This was two large factions engaged in full-scale battle. Pretty soon, Liz feared, it would come to an all-out war between the two factions, and there would be a lot of dead bodies caught in the crossfire.

“I don’t know”, Ressler said. “I don’t know if we have a new player.” He paused for a second and then said, “But I can tell you this. Whoever did this is a professional.” He looked at Liz and said, “I’ll be in touch. Feel free to hit me up if you need anything.” Then he winked at Aram, turned around and walked away.

“That guy, I swear”, Aram said, shaking his head.

Liz cracked a small smile at Aram and Ressler’s mostly good-natured bickering and then said, “C’mon, let’s have a look around.”

 

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

 

“So, this is where the assassin may have been”, Liz said. She and Aram were standing on the rooftop of the four-story building that Liz had pointed out earlier when they had been talking with Ressler. The access door to the rooftop had been jammed when they had arrived, and she and Aram had to bust it open.

“Agent Keen, do you really think a sniper sat up here and then took out two of the top guys in the Marano family?” Aram liked to question Liz’s theories. Liz often spun off on wild theories, and Aram saw it as her job to rein Liz in. It bothered Liz sometimes that Aram was always questioning, but it had developed into a good dynamic of check and balance.

“I don’t know”, Liz said, “but Ressler is right. There are no other families around anymore to challenge the Marano’s, and I agree with him that, if this had been the Disciples, they would have sprayed the entire restaurant with bullets when the Italians came out. Plus", she looked at Aram, "Why was the door jammed shut when we got up here? It was as if someone came up here and then jammed the door so they wouldn't be disturbed."

Aram shrugged. “Don’t know. I mean, I guess it could have been a sniper. But, then the question is – why? What is a sniper doing capping wise guys in Chicago? I mean, snipers take out high profile terrorists in faraway places, right? Not mafia guys in a big city.”

“I don’t know, Aram. I seriously have no idea what’s going on here”, Liz said. She took out a flashlight and scoured the rooftop. She squatted near the edge and looked over. She could see the restaurant half a block down. It was over a thousand feet away, but Liz’s brother Tom had served in the Army, and she knew from him that nailing a target at that range was definitely possible for a good shooter. From here, it would have been a clean shot. No one on the street would have seen him. Or her. Liz stared for a moment longer and tried to imagine how it would have all happened. Then, she looked at the ground, shining her flashlight around. She was about to stand up when something caught her eye. She moved her flashlight closer on the ground and saw it. It was a piece of long dark brown hair. She picked it up and stared at it for a moment and then shined her flashlight again onto the ground. Nothing else. She looked at the hair in her hand. Probably nothing, she thought. A hair from some tenant who was sunbathing on the roof. It was July in Chicago, after all, and Chicagoans loved to sunbathe in the three months that this city actually had warm weather.

“Find something?” Aram asked.

“Maybe”, Liz said. She put the piece of hair in her pocket, then stood up and walked towards Aram. “Let’s go back to the office”, she said. “I want to run something by you.” She and Aram went back down to the street, got in their car, and headed towards JOCT headquarters, 5 minutes away in downtown Chicago.


	3. Chapter 3

Samar was relaxing in her whirlpool bathtub. Her head was back and her eyes were closed. She was drifting, somewhere in that place between sleep and consciousness. In her dreamlike thoughts she was a child, sitting on the beach between her parents. It was a beautiful day, her mother had packed a picnic, and the family was staring out onto the water as they ate. Samar was smiling and was halfway through her sandwich when two men walked up to her family. They were wearing Italian cut suits. One of them smiled at her, and then pulled out a gun…

Samar’s eyes popped open as she started awake. Her hand instinctually went for the 9mm on the nearby toilet seat, and she looked around quickly for a moment. She took a deep breath and then looked at the clock in the bathroom. It was close to midnight. She had arrived home over an hour ago from Little Italy. Everything had gone according to plan. She closed her eyes and went back to drifting, and her thoughts took her back to when it had all started. She was living with her grandmother and about to graduate from an elite high school in a wealthy Chicago suburb. It had been a year since the tragedy that had struck her family had occurred. She had inherited a large sum of money and was financially set for life, but she found herself meandering through college classes, searching for meaning and purpose. That search soon lead her to the army. She dropped out of college, enlisted in boot camp, and then went through basic combat training. Her journey took a shot in the arm when an instructor suggested she consider trying out for the Army’s Special Forces. Samar signed on and undertook the grueling six month course to become qualified to don the Green Beret. The training was every bit as intense as she had heard it would be. Tracking and surveillance. Hand to hand combat. Advance weapon tactics. Explosives and demolitions. Electronics and circuitry. Sniper training. Copious exercise. Little sleep. Samar was in good shape from her days as a varsity soccer player in high school, but the training pushed her beyond what she had ever thought she could achieve physically. What surprised Samar the most, however, was that, even more than being physical, the training was largely psychological. As the army’s experts in unconventional warfare, the Special Forces are trained first and foremost in problem solving. Unlike the enlisted soldiers in the regular army who follow specific sets of orders, Special Forces operators learn from day one that nothing goes according to plan. Working in small teams, they are taught to solve problems on the fly and improvise in the field. Samar learned to think on her feet and react instantly to any situation. The ability to do that, coupled with the myriad of skills that she had learned, made her one of the deadliest soldiers the U.S. Army has ever produced.

Samar opened her eyes. Yes, she thought - the army trained me well. She had been honorably discharged just under two years ago, after spending six years serving in the Special Forces, operating in some of the most hostile and unforgiving environments in the world. Since being discharged, she had worked non-stop on her plan, to avenge her parents’ death by eliminating the criminal underworld of Chicago and making the city a safer place. She had briefly considered joining the police force, but after serving in the Special Forces, she doubted that she would be well suited in an organization mired in procedures and hampered by due process. Justice needs to be served, and bad people need to be punished, whether or not the law can provide that. She relaxed for another minute, then stood up and got out of the bathtub. She dried herself off and then put on a pair of jeans and a tank top that hugged the curves of her chiseled physique. She walked into her granite-countertopped kitchen and poured a glass of water from the water filter in the sub-zero fridge. Her condo was on the second floor of a refurbished building in Chicago’s north side Lincoln Park neighborhood. It was a nice, modern condo, and it was paid in full. The only benefit to the tragedy, Samar thought – I have money and don’t need to work. Not that I would have ever traded that for what happened, but as it stands, I can concentrate on what really matters – my mission. Coincidentally, her condo was located not far from where the St. Valentine's Day Massacre, the most infamous mob-related slayings in Chicago, had occurred. The coincidence of her condo's location, and the irony that she was waging a one-woman war against organized crime in Chicago, was not lost on Samar.

Samar took a sip of water and then stepped out onto the balcony. The warm summer nighttime air blew across her face. She looked up and down the street, taking in the sights of Lincoln Avenue after midnight. Even on a Sunday people were out and about. Lincoln Park was one of the hippest areas in Chicago for young people, and crowds of twenty-and-thirty somethings caroused the bars seven nights a week. Samar’s eyes roamed the street, and her gaze settled on a couple, maybe late twenties or early thirties, holding hands, one girl walking slightly in front of the other as they strolled down the street. The girl in the back said something and smiled, and the girl in front laughed and leaned her head back slightly. The girl in back leaned forward, and the couple kissed as they stopped in front of a bar. It would be nice, Samar thought, to have someone in my life like that. She flashed back to when she had first experienced romantic feelings, dating boys in junior high, then making that discovery in high school and dating girls instead. She had withdrawn from social interaction after the tragedy, but had tried again in college, and she thought about what could have been considered her first and only real girlfriend. That hadn’t lasted long, she thought with a shake of her head, and then she thought about her mission, and the whole reason she had joined the army, to acquire the skills she would need to successfully pull it off. Nothing could get in the way of success, she told herself. She couldn’t have any distractions. At least not right now. Maybe when she was done, she would open herself up to exploring a more personal part of life - love.

Samar looked out onto the street for a few more minutes and then finished her glass of water and went inside. She put the glass in the sink and then turned on the TV to WGN news. A reporter was talking about the shootings that had taken place on Taylor Street earlier in the evening. She was dubbing it a possible “all-out mafia versus gang war”, and she was interviewing the special agent in charge of the investigation. Samar stared at the screen. The agent was a stunning woman with an angelic face and a laser-like focus in her eyes. The graphics across the screen identified her as Special Agent Elizabeth Keen of the Joint Organized Crime Taskforce. Samar knew about JOCT, the new government agency in charge of coordinating the fight against organized crime between federal and local law enforcement groups. She smiled slightly, thinking that JOCT should put her on their payroll, maybe as an unidentified contractor. Not that she needed the money, but the thought still made her smile. I’m getting rid of bad guys for you, she mused. Samar tuned back in as Special Agent Keen spoke into the reporter’s microphone:

“...we want a Chicago where law-abiding citizens can leave their homes without fearing for their safety. Our goal is to eliminate crime and make Chicago a safer place for everyone, and we won’t stop pursuing the criminal elements in this city until we do…”

Samar took in what the agent said, and slowly nodded her head. I’m in agreement with you, Special Agent Beautiful. But, you’re moving too slow. That’s why I’m not stopping either. She turned off the TV and headed into her bedroom. As she went to turn off the light, she looked at the photo on her dresser. She was eight years old, and she was with her mother and father. They were sitting on the beach, having a picnic. Samar looked at the photo and thought what she always thought every time she looked at the photo: I love you guys and miss you, and I promise to make the world a safer place, so nothing like what happened to us will ever happen to anyone else. A tear formed in her eye, and she wiped it away. Then she turned off the light, and crawled into bed and thought. She had been out of the Special Forces for two years now, and had been meticulously planning ever since, researching, tracking, and coming up with ways to eliminate both the Marano family and the Chicago Disciples. Any other criminals she came across would be eliminated as well. And, she was close to being done. Maybe a month or so away, and then maybe, just maybe, she could rest, knowing that she had done what she could. She closed her eyes, slowed her breathing, and fell into a light asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

The Chicago office of JOCT was located in the same building as the FBI’s Chicago office, in the Federal Building on south Dearborn Avenue in downtown Chicago. Liz and Aram walked into JOCT headquarters and headed for Liz’s office. They were about to enter when Liz heard a familiar voice.

“Keen”, the voice came from behind her.

Liz closed her eyes and swore under her breath. The voice belonged to Harold Cooper, head of the Chicago office of JOCT and her direct supervisor. Liz got along well with Cooper, but the fact that he was in the office at 11pm on a Sunday night meant that something wasn’t good. She turned around and smiled. “Hi boss, how’s your Sunday night going?”

“I want to see you in my office. Now.”

Liz sighed. “Okey Dokey.” She turned to Aram. “Wait in my office. I’ll be right there.” Aram gave her a mocking scared look and a “good luck” thumbs up and went into her office. Liz entered Cooper’s office and closed the door.

“So, boss, you’re here late- ”, Liz started in jovially, but Cooper cut her off.

“Alright Keen”, Cooper said, as he took a seat. “What the hell happened down there tonight?”

Liz dropped the charade and turned serious. “Alberto Costello and Vincenzo Pazzarelli got hit.”

“I know who got hit, Keen. I want to know what happened. Who did it, and why and how.”

“I don’t know. Detective Ressler thinks it may have been a sniper. Two taps, one to each victim.”

“A sniper?" Cooper asked and raised an eyebrow. "Okay…who sent the sniper?”

“We don’t know.”

“Okay, if this was a sniper, how did he do it?”

“It could have been a she”, Liz said, and Cooper frowned. “And we don’t know, but maybe he or she hid on the rooftop of one of the buildings across the street.”

“What?!" Cooper was incredulous. "Keen, I know that street. The nearest building to the restaurant that would work for a sniper is a condo building halfway down the block. You’re telling me that a sniper sat up there, waited for these guys to come out of the restaurant, and then whacked both of them from a thousand feet away with just two shots, while they were sequestered amidst six security guards that are bigger than the offensive line for the Chicago Bears?”

“Uh, we don’t know, boss, but that’s a possibility.”

“Okayyyyyy…” Cooper rolled on, “And when is the last time that either the mob or a street gang hired a sniper?”

“Uh, don’t know that either, boss.”

Cooper pounded his fist on her desk. “Well, what do you know? I mean, so far, you, Ressler, and that FBI dork Aram have come up with one theory that sounds like Jason Bourne hit these guys. Please tell me you have something more solid than this.”

“Uh, nope. At least not right now.” Liz shrugged.

Cooper put his head in her hands and sighed. Then he looked up at Liz. “Look, Reddington just called me like twenty minutes ago and reamed my ass.” Raymond R. Reddington was the Director of Joint Organized Task Force, and Cooper’s boss. “The press is having a field day with this. They’re dubbing it an “all-out mafia-versus-gang war”. They’re drawing parallels to the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. Red wants this thing wrapped up quickly, and, as much as he and I disagree sometimes, I’m actually with him on that. The last thing we need is for this city to panic, thinking that their beloved hometown is turning into a war zone. You know what’s gonna happen if people start thinking that? Law enforcement will lose the public’s confidence, and then we’re gonna have everyday citizens going out, buying guns, and taking matters into their own hands.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it boss. Wrap it up quick, I know.”

Cooper stood up. “Keen – you’re the best JOCT agent we have in this city. Get control of this before it spirals into chaos, find the shooter or shooters, and put them behind bars.”

“Thanks, boss,” Liz said. “No pressure there.” She started to leave and then turned around. “Can I do anything else for you while I’m at it? Maybe get you a cup of coffee? Or maybe a sandwich?”

“Out. Get to work,” Cooper said and pointed to the door. Liz gave him a mock salute and then left for her office.

 

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

 

“How was your chat with Cooper?” Aram asked as Liz walked into her office. She looked at Aram and rolled her eyes. “That good, huh?” he said.

“I don’t wanna talk about it”, Liz said. “He’s on edge right now. Reddington called him and threw the heat on him, so he just threw the heat on me. Look, I’m tired, so let’s just review what we know, and then I’m going home for the night.”

“Okay”, Aram said. “So, if we’re sticking with the lone sniper theory, which, the more I think about it, actually seems plausible…well, then, this person could be anyone.”

“No”, Liz said. “Not just anyone. First and foremost, this person is well trained. Think about it: the sniper was three hundred yards away, shooting at night time. First off, you need a certain kind of weapon to make that kind of shot, and not many people know how to use that kind of a weapon. Secondly, you need serious skills to make that shot. He or she had maybe five seconds to get two shots off, before their targets were in the cars, which, by the way, I’m sure were bullet proofed. Plus, the targets were surrounded by bodyguards the size of houses.”

“Okay, I’m following you on all of that”, Aram said.

“Also, think about it – the sniper wasn’t there by chance tonight. He or she knew that Costello and Pazzarelli were going to be there tonight, eating dinner at Salvatore’s. The sniper probably knew that those two dined there every Sunday night. The only way that the sniper would have known that was through tracking and surveillance. That kind of tracking and surveillance would have taken at least a few months to establish that pattern. Also, this sniper knew the best building to set up on. In addition, this sniper would have needed to know who his victims were. Now, we know who Costello and Pazzarelli are, but we’re in law enforcement. Those guys aren’t exactly household names. If we go with the fact that this sniper isn’t related to either the mafia or a gang, then that means that whoever this is knows how to do some research, and maybe even crack a law enforcement database, which suggests that he or she knows a thing or two about computers.”

“Right. Okay”, Aram agreed. “So, where are you going with all of this?”

Liz thought for a moment and then looked at Aram. “Where I’m going with this is that…this person is a pro. And there’s really only one place you learn to execute like that, and that's in the military. If I were to guess, our sniper is either army or marines. Those are the two branches that produce the best snipers. And”, Liz said while digging in her pocket, “I’m betting it’s the army. More specifically, Army Special Forces.”

“What makes you say that?” Aram asked, and thought: here goes Liz off on another wild theory again…

“Because I found this”, Liz said, and pulled out the hair that she had found on the rooftop.

“Is that…a…hair?” Aram asked, pulling up closer to take a look.

“Yup. It’s a hair. A long hair, and a fine hair, so it’s probably from a woman.”

“Okay…” Aram said. “Keep going…”

“I found it on the rooftop, right near the edge. It’s possible the sniper had been lying there. Also, in case you don’t know, the army is the only branch of our military that currently allows women to serve in special units. Both the Rangers and the Special Forces started letting women join around ten years ago. The Navy SEALs, Air Force Special Tactics and Marine Force Recon haven’t adopted the policy yet, which personally I think is dumb, but that’s beside the point. Anyway, within the army, snipers usually serve in the Special Forces, not the Rangers. The Rangers fight more direct action, close quarter combat. Sniping falls under the umbrella of unconventional warfare, which is what the Special Forces are trained for.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“My brother Tom served in the army.”

“Okay”, Aram said. “So, just say you’re right, and we have an army, or maybe an ex-army Special Forces soldier, who knows how to track targets, perform surveillance, work a computer, and squeeze off multiple kill shots from three hundred yards away. The question I have is – who and why? I mean, if this person is not from another mafia family, and is not gang-affiliated, then who is this person, and why are they doing this?”

Liz looked at Aram. “I don’t know. I honestly have no clue, and I couldn’t even hazard a guess right now. But”, she said, as she stood up and yawned, “we are gonna find out.”

“Alrighty”, Aram said, as he got up from his chair. “I’m followin’ your lead on this one.”

Liz smiled and then said, “Let’s call it a night.” The two of them walked out of the building together and got into their respective cars.

“See you tomorrow morning”, Aram said. “I’ll come by around 9, and we can draw up a plan.”

“Sounds good”, Liz said. She got into her car and drove home.

 

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Liz arrived home ten minutes later at her apartment in the Pilsen neighborhood, just south of downtown Chicago. She took off her jacket and shoes and then went into the kitchen and grabbed a beer. She was bone-tired and needed some sleep, but she was too wound up to hit the sack just yet, so she popped the top, took a swig, and then wandered into the living room. She thought about turning on the TV, but as she reached for the remote, he eye fell on the photo of her mother, her father, and Tom. Tom lived a mile away, just down Halsted Street. Liz looked at her mother and father and a tear formed in her eye as she thought about the tragedy that had befallen her family. It was a senseless tragedy, caused by someone doing something stupid, not following the law. Laws need to be followed, Liz thought. Laws need to be followed, or bad things happen, so she had committed her life to enforcing the law. I miss you, Mom and Dad, she thought. She stared at the photo for another moment, and then she went out onto her balcony. Warm summer air blew across her face. She looked up and down Halsted, and her eyes settled on a young couple coming out of a bar. They were holding hands and laughing. The girl on the left leaned sideways and kissed the girl on the right, and the girl on the right giggled and nuzzled her head into the neck of the girl on the left. It must be nice, Liz thought, to have someone in your life like that. She wondered if she could balance a relationship and a career in law enforcement, with its crazy hours. It may be possible, she thought. It would just have to be with someone really understanding, who believed in what I was doing. Liz sighed, finished her beer, and went back inside. She laid down in her bed and her thoughts turned to the case. Who was this mystery shooter? What had brought him or her in? How had he or she pulled this off? And why was it that, more and more, I’m starting to get the gut feeling the shooter is a woman? Too much to comprehend right now, Liz thought, as she shut her eyes. Right now, I just need some sleep. She let her thoughts wander for a few more minutes and then drifted into dreamland.


End file.
